Destroyer
by sadboys
Summary: The world is ruined and zombies are taking over. Tweek isn't having it with Craig. CraigxTweek
1. Survival of the fittest

_Tweek Tweak's notebook, page 1_

 _* You will only turn if you get bitten by a zombie, not if it scratches you or cause another wound that isn't with its mouth._

 _* Do not take water for granted._

 _* Appreciate the rain._

I grab hold of the bow, and quickly drag an arrow up from the small case I keep on my back. The arrow flies through the air and pierces through the zombies head, ramming it up against a tree. I roll over on my back, to end up on my knees, dragging another arrow out of the case. The zombies are getting in on me, and I don't have enough arrows for them all. I fire my arrow, and then, quickly up on my feet again, I run. I run in the opposite direction of the zombie horde, hoping that I won't run into another one on the way.

It's in times like this I'm happy that I have long legs, or being tall whatsoever. The zombies are fast as well, but they still can't get up on my level. Branches sticking out from the trees are risping my face, leaving tiny marks. It burns, but it's not something I have the time to think about. Right now, my first priority is getting to safety. _Wherever that is._ Later I can concern about patching my tiny wounds up. I jump over a fallen tree, and I can hear some zombies falling over it. Rest of them keep on chasing me. Damn it, why did zombies have to have the ability to jump? Can't they be like in _The walking dead,_ where they just walk slow and die almost instantly? Things would be so much easier if it would've been that way. But unfortunately, it's not. The zombies in real life are able to jump, run fast, and dodge. They're like skilled athletics, only that they're after blood instead of the gold medal.

But one thing they can not do, is climb. That's why I'm now scanning the trees I'm running past for low, stable branches, that I can fly up in, to hide from the danger. I won't be able to hold this running pace much longer, though my cardio is good, my legs are starting to bend. But I can't give in. _Safety. Jump. Safety. Run. Safety._ I can spot a tree, maybe hundred meters in front of me (thank god my eye sight is good, otherwise I'd never survive this) with low branches, leading up to a higher, wider one. It's perfect. _Push yourself, Tweek. It's only a few meters left._ I can feel the zombies grunting close behind me. _50 meters._ In the back of my eye I can see a hand reaching against me. _40 meters._ It's getting closer, almost touching me. I use my final strength to speed up my pace. _30 meters._ I can't do this anymore. I'm going to trip, my legs are going to give in. This is the last breath I'm taking on this earth. _20 meters._ I can feel a hand on my shoulder, nails digging into my flesh. Fuck, it hurts. _10 meters._ Everything I've fought for out in these woods for nothing. Three years of being all alone out here, and this is how it ends? _0 meters._

I almost collide with the tree, but as soon as my mind is back to its normal state, only slightly panicking, I manage to make a jump up in the air, grabbing the lowest branch of the tree. Here I am, hanging two feet above ground, with a bunch of zombies grabbing at me. I have to pull myself up before anyone has the chance to bite me. My arms are shaking as I succeed with getting the upper part of my body above the branch, and exhausted, I breath out as I place my feet upon it as well. But no resting now. I need to get higher up. The higher I am, the more safe. If they stop being able to feel my scent, and can't see me, they'll leave eventually. That's what they always do.

I put my hands on a higher branch, heave myself up, steady my feet and then repeat. Repeat until I'm high enough that I feel sick when looking down on the ground below me. High enough for the zombies not to hear my loud breathing, and high enough for me not to hear theirs. I sit down on a wider, more stable branch, resting my back against the tree. It stings where the zombie had placed its nails. I calmly take off my backpack and my jacket. Panicking isn't going to help. In these moments I need to stay calm. That's what I've told myself all the times I've felt like screaming, all the times I've laid bleeding on the ground. If I take things calmly, and focus on by breathing, things are going to be just fine. Breath in, breath out. Simple as that. I take a rope out of my backpack, tying it around the branch and my legs, so that it'll keep me from falling if I lose balance - _thank you Katniss Everdeen for this idea_ \- and also take out a large patch, cotton balls, and alcohol, to clean area where the zombie hurt me. I put it all in my knee, to prevent it from falling down to the ground where I wont be able to get to it again, and pull my dark green t-shirt over my head. I've been wearing this same t-shirt for three years in a row now, washing it as often as I can. It's gross, I know, but I still haven't dared to enter the city to get refreshments. All the supplies that I have, medical and hygiene (a soap, if that counts as hygiene), I've found on the ground where I just assume other people have dropped it. I used to get happy when I found something, thinking I was close to somebody elses camp, close to other people. I used to convince myself that I'd find these people who'd dropped the aspirin, or the bandage, just to keep my spirit going. But I never did find them. So now, I just assume everybody's dead. It's the easiest, you don't have to walk around worrying about what might have happened to the people of the abandoned camps or something, cause it doesn't matter, since they are all dead in my head.

I pour out a not so generous amount of alcohol on one of the cotton balls. I need to use as little as possible if I'm planning to stay alive. I've never been good at dealing with pain, but I've grown familiar enough with it not to scream every time something hurts me. I squeeze my shirt with my free hand. _It's only going to sting for a second._ I slowly press the cotton ball against the ripped skin on my right shoulder. _Breath in, breath out._ My hands are shaking. I dab at the wound one more time. _Fuuuuck._ Why is the human able to feel pain? It's so unnecessary. I let the cotton ball drop to the ground, and push a patch against the tiny, but deep wounds on my shoulder. _Done_. I drag my shirt back on, and my jacket. Nights usually gets cold here, wherever I am.

I've been out, hiding in the woods for three years now, ever since it first started. I still remember it as if it was yesterday. Watching the television with my parents in North park, two years after we'd moved away from the tiny, shitty town called South Park. I was only nineteen at the time, and still lived with my parents. I wasn't allowed to move out 'cause my doctor told me I wouldn't be able to handle it. Of course, I thought different, but I knew he was right. I was a very unstable teenager. Not only cause of my mental health (I will not go deeper into that, sorry), but also for all the people I lived with in South Park. The bullies that fucked me up, bad. I've never forgiven them. They thought it was just for fun, but didn't realize the impact they made on me. How much they crushed me. Fucking Stan Marsh. Asshole Eric Cartman. Douchebag Craig Tucker. There was Clyde, Kenny and Kyle with them as well, but they never did much. Just stood by and laughed. They turned everybody against me. So, my life sucked back then. What I didn't know was that the real hell started a few years later. My parents and I were sitting in the living room, family night, you know? My dad had turned on the TV, and the show we had been watching got interrupted by some "urgent news", as they'd called it. The broadcasting on the TV, made by Wendy Testaburger, was all chaotic, and had ended up with Wendy getting bitten, and freaking out on camera. We were told to stay inside, to not let anyone in. This didn't last very long though, the creatures, that we didn't know where zombies back then, broke down our windows in the kitchen and got inside anyways. I remember looking into my mothers eyes as she told me to leave her, _them_ , behind. That it'd all be okay. That she loved me. I also remember my parents insides being ripped apart by our neighbor. Lovely memories that will probably haunt me for life. After that, I managed to collect myself, and ran out the back door, into the woods. And without having any contact with anybody since, all my focuses have been on training, finding food, and trying to find shelter. I've been in at the city limits a few times, but it's always the same. Fires that never goes out, streets full of zombies, and silence. Complete, dead silence. I haven't been trying to get back into the city for over a year now, but I don't dare to, 'cause first thing ; it's to much of a risk. I do not want to die. The zombies would see and attack me immediately. And secondly ; I really have no idea where I am. Literally. I've been inside these forests, wandering deeper and deeper each passing day, that I don't have a single clue on where I am, so I don't even know _how_ to get to the city.

As a little kid I always wanted something big to happen. I actually dreamed, and fantasized about a zombie apocalypse. I wished for it to happen. Now that my wish have come true, I want nothing else but to go back to the way it used to be. And I spent the first few months with wondering if this was my fault, cause I wished for it as a little child, my paranoia being as bad as it is. But I've come to a conclusion that it wasn't my fault, cause I wasn't the one to infect the first zombie with a virus. _Or maybe I was? Oh shit, it actually is my fault. God, everybody died because of me._ _Shit, shit, shit._ Breath in, breath out. It isn't my fault. In, out.

I have these weird arguments with myself, both in my head and out loud. Talking to myself has become quite the habit, asking how my day was, and what I want for dinner. I am aware of the fact that I sound like a maniac, but try living alone in the woods with zombies hunting you daily for three years, then come back and talk to me again about being crazy. No, but I've actually kept it together pretty well so far. I'm a skilled shot, both with bow and with guns. I know how to handle a knife, and I know how to hunt. I know how to take care of myself without medicine or coffee, or anybody else constantly helping me. That would be the positive thing coming out of this. The negative would be everything else.

It's dark. Probably in the middle of the night. I must've fallen asleep. How long was I gone? Long enough for the zombies to leave? Sleep and I have never been dear friends. If I'm lucky I get three hours, but that's only on the good nights. Most of the time I'm awake. Maybe not alert, but awake at least. And I know myself well enough to realize that I won't be sleeping anymore tonight. Might as well go check on those zombies.

I untie the rope that has been keeping me steady during the hours that has passed. I drag down my backpack, that I put hanging on a branch just above me, and then I'm ready to go. My shoulder is stinging, but it's better than before. I drag a middle sized knife from my belt. It's not small enough to be a pocket knife, but not big enough for me to accidentally cut myself whenever I pick it up. The knife is sharp, and has a dark brown handle. It's the only thing that I managed to grab before I left my home. It's a kitchen knife, one of my dads favorites. He used it to cut meat into small, beautiful pieces. I never ate the meat, since I used to be a vegetarian (which is impossible right now in my situation), but he did it with such carefulness. I miss seeing him so concentrated on getting the pieces of meat in the exact same sizes.

The knife gives away tiny, scratching sounds as I carve a T into the tree. By carving T's to the places I've been, I'm able to see if I've been here before, and just been walking in circles, or if I'm heading in a new direction. When the T is as big as my hand, making it impossible not to notice if you'd sit here, I put the knife back, satisfied. This is always my favorite part when I leave, realizing that I've never been here before, at least not in this tree. Every time I turn around to see an old T already carved into the stock, it makes me upset at first, but then just sad. I want to be moving on, finding a place where there's people. Not walking around in circles.

 _Okay, Tweek. Now you need to get down on the ground, and you need to keep running._ Running. I remember nineteen year old Tweek, never gotten a day of exercise i his life. Twenty-two year old Tweek is much different. I can run all night, if it's in a steady pace, without getting tired. I might not be able to do countless and countless of pushups, but I am well-trained. It still doesn't show on the outside of my body. I'm still just as thin as I was back then, but I know that I'm stronger and much more skilled. Nineteen year old Tweek wouldn't even think about using a gun, and absolutely not a bow. Both of them are daily basis now, and I don't even care anymore about stabbing zombies in the head with a knife. I don't care if I drop a large rock on their heads, making them explode. I don't care about anything but staying alive anymore, and I don't even know why I care so much about that. There's not really a reason for me to keep on trying as much as I am, everyday is the same. And sooner or later, I will end up dead. If I get killed by the zombies, or if it'll be an infection of some kind will have to surprise me, but I know that the day is getting closer. I'm giving up hope, but at the same time, I'm not. The voice in my head keeps me going strong, though my body is tired and torn. I just don't know for how long I'll be able to pull this off without going completely insane.

The cold wind brushes against my face as I run on a solid ground, a few rocks and branches here and there I jump over. All you can see are thin trees, thick trees, trees with leaves, trees without leaves and more trees. There's so much trees you can barely even see the sky. I can catch a glimpse now and then of the darkness and the stars above me, which always soothes me. The sky is the only thing that never changes.

Food. I should eat. I can't recall the last time I got a proper meal. I've been living on birds. They taste horrible. Or maybe they do taste good, but I disgust myself so much every time I eat one, that it ends up tasting horrible. But birds are an easy target. I'd never shoot a cow or something (not that I've seen one), and birds are tiny enough to eat the whole thing at once. I don't enjoy walking around carrying old meat on me. It's a gross feeling to stick your hand down your back and feel something smooshy. _Eww._ No, if I catch something, I eat it right away. Same goes with berries. Plants are the only thing I keep in my backpack, when I from time to time find something edible. Most plants are already destroyed, have been cut down, or maybe someone else has eaten from it ( _does zombies eat plants as well?_ ), but there are times where I find a whole stack of burdocks, or sometimes even dandelions. Then I pack as many as I can in my backpack, and live on it for the upcoming days. They don't last for long though, 'cause I can tell you that you definitely do not get stuffed on those. Meat is filling, but I try to avoid it as much as possible, but in times like now, when I've gone days without finding anything, I need to shoot down a bird. I need to feed.

My listening skills has also developed a lot during the past years. Being able to hear something moving in a wide area is good. It helps. If it's the wind, a zombie or a bird I mostly can't tell. Or, if I hear noises that sounds like somebody's dying I know it's a zombie of course, but I'm talking about tiny things. Sticks being broken, leaves being stomped on, other things I might be imagining that I'm hearing that isn't really there. My paranoia hasn't gotten better, maybe even worse than before. But I'm better at dealing with it now, at least.

I crouch, trying to breathe as calm as possible. Listening to tiny sounds from the trees. I close my eyes. Somehow, I seem to hear better when I can't see. _Nothing._ I wait a few seconds. _Still nothing._ Come on, birds, make a sound for fucks sake.

 _Creek_

I fly up from my sitting position, pulling the bow and arrow out quickly. I shoot the arrow at the same direction I heard the sound. A moment later I can hear a _thud_ as the pigeon hits the ground. I run up to it. The pigeon isn't very big. It's white, with grey stripes across the wings, bleeding out from it's chest.

"Sorry, bud. I _-ngh-,_ I didn't want to do this." Something that hadn't gone away during the years was my ticks. Still twitching, still making random noises as I speak. It seems to be permanent, and something that I can not control, no matter how much I want to. The sounds comes out automatically, no matter how hard I try to avoid it. I do not stutter as much as I used to, but I can't get rid off the rest. But I still try to avoid it, making those random sounds, when I talk to myself. If I ever meet someone in this world again, I don't want to scare them off. But getting rid of the twitching thing ; I've given up on it. It won't fucking go away. I don't even care about it anymore, don't care to control or hide it. Who am I supposed to hide it from even? There's no one around to see me. Except for the zombies then, but like they'd give a flying crap. They're not even _alive_. All they want is to eat my brain and make me one of them.

I know that lighting a fire is dangerous. I know that I risk attracting attention. Slightest light or sound, the zombies comes chasing after you, but I can't eat raw meat, that's just gross.

The matches in my front pocket are starting to run out, and I still have only succeeded once in lighting a fire with rocks. And that was two years ago. I really need to learn some more techniques if I want to survive. I should've watched more adventure movies. All those zombie movies haven't helped a bit. Or maybe the part with "Hit them in the head" has been a little helper, but the rest is just bullshit. " _Zombies will not be able to smell you if you're covered in their guts_ " my ass. That almost got me killed. If I watched some adventure movies, where it was all about How to survive in the wild, I probably would've been in a better place. Now all I got after is the Hunger Games movies, not that it has helped a lot.

I put a few stocks up, like a little fire place, and light it up. The fire warms me instantly, and I bring up the sticks that I've carved in specific ways for them to be able to carry a small weight over fire. I close my eyes when I run the stick through the bird. It always feels just as horrible, hearing the flesh being teared apart.

"Fucking gross, man." I mumble to myself as I place the bird over the fire. It takes about an hour for the meat to get ready to be eaten, so I better just keep watch for zombies for so long. It has happened before that zombies notices the light my fire gives away, that's why it's always important to be alert. I wish that I had coffee. The first few days without it had been tough. For real. I couldn't stop shaking, and it felt like I was going to throw up. Hadn't realized that I was _that_ addicted. I thought that I just drank it because, you know, I felt good when I did. Never that it was something serious, and that I'd feel so horrible without it. Boy, was I wrong. Instead, I'm now constantly tired (might also be due to the fact that I barely sleep), so being alert and active is a big issue.

 _Anywhere but here._ I wish I was anywhere but here. I could be on a crashing plane, or hell, I would even choose to go back to South Park over this. _South Park._ Only bad memories from there. Or maybe not all bad, in early elementary everything was fine, but when seventh started, my whole life came crashing down on me. And it continued for almost five years. No wonder we moved, even my parents realized that I wouldn't cope if we stayed there. Leaving for North Park was the best choice, but things never quite got better there either. I miss elementary. I miss being able to talk to people my age without getting punched in the face. Even fucking Gary Harrison hated me at the end, though that kid was nice to literally everyone. Everyone _except_ for me, that is. Jocks, or the popular kids, such as Stan, Clyde or Craig started with small comments about my appearance mostly, in seventh grade. By that time, I was already one foot taller than everybody else, with platinum blonde hair going in all directions. They thought it was funny, me being tall. And, well, I didn't. I hung out with Kevin Stoley back then. We never talked or anything in early elementary years, but we were both outcast in from about sixth grade to high school and was just dragged to each other. He ended up leaving me too. I didn't realize that it was a big deal when I came out as gay to the people of South Park. I though they'd react calmly, say that they accepted me. That's how it mostly goes down, in movies and so at least. All grown ups was cool with it, told me I was a strong, young male and _blablabla._ But after coming out the younger people started jumping me. But I don't think that it was the fact that I was gay that made them punch me, I think that it mostly was 'cause of my weird ticks. They used to call me things like 'spazter' and so. And it hurt. It really did. All those people looking down on me, making fun of me. It crushed the ounce of self-esteem I'd had. I smile when I think back about it. Not a happy smile, more of a 'I'm glad I got through it' smile. Those people really destroyed my life. Fucking douchebags.

The pigeon looks about ready to eat. I put the fire out by simply stomping on it with my foot, and pull the pigeon of the stick. I will spare you the details of me eating it, but yeah. I ate it.

The quest to find safety continues. It's an awful long quest, and I'd settle by just getting some company. Instead of running, I'm walking, or power walking. Like the old ladies in fitness commercials. I don't know which direction I'm going really, but I think I'm heading south, or maybe west.. I should've brought a map. Not that I would be able to tell a certain forest from another, they all look the same. What if I'm still in the same area I started out, three years ago? That'd be horrible. Jesus Christ, I'm stuck in the same place. All this running for nothing. That's not fucking fair.

" _No, Tweek. You're not in the same place as you was three years ago. You've moved, and you're on your way to civilization._ " calming breaths not to work myself up over nothing. Of course I've moved. It's impossible for me to have stayed in the same place. I've been heading in the same direction for years now. At least, I think I've been going in the same direction. Doesn't matter. _Or yes, it does._ But everything will work out, one way or another. I just need to keep walking. Fun, fun, fun.

" _All the single ladies, all the single ladies.._ " Hours pass by. " _Now put your hands up._ " Night turns into day, darkness into light. " _Cause if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it._ " The only song that I've ever memorized is being sung over and over again by my raspy, high-pitched voice. It's the only way of entertaining myself. I even do those little hand gestures, when I sing ' _you should have put a ring on it'_. " _Oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh oh._."

My singing is interrupted by a scream. It's loud, and it's frightened. The voice belongs to a male.

"FUCK! HELP, SOMEBODY!" The voice is far away from me. Am I imagining this? I haven't heard another mans voice in years. "GET OFF ME! HELP!" It's all in my head. I have tendencies to make things up sometimes, when I feel extra lonely. But those voices are mostly calm, asking what my favorite movie is or why my I got sad when the most evil person died in game of thrones. "SOMEBODY, PLEASE!" _Fuck._ I can not not look this up. I don't know if this is all me making it up, but it sounds real. Real enough for me to start running in the direction I think it's coming from.

The screams are getting louder, closer. It's filled with panic, filled with hysteria. I increase my running pace. _Faster._ If this person ends up dead before I get there, I'll never be able to forgive myself. Suddenly my mind wanders over to ' _How do I look?'_ Do I look mad? Do I look insane? I haven't looked at myself in a mirror in forever, so either of it wouldn't surprise me. My hair must be going in all directions, and multiple scarring has occurred in my face. Or that's what I assume, since I have scarring from scratches from zombies all over the rest my body, so why would my face be an exception? But why the fuck am I thinking about this? There's a person that needs saving. _Focus, Tweek._

The screaming is only meters away now, and I pull out my bow and an arrow to be prepared to shoot. Between two trees, I can see somebody, completely surrounded by zombies. He's screaming from the top of his lungs. "GUYS! FUCKING COME RESCUE ME! I can't see his entire body(nor his face), but it seems like he has no weapon. All he's doing now is fighting of the zombies with a stick. Pathetic, really. Well, he's trying at least.

I shoot away my first arrow, letting it pierce through the head of the zombie that's closest to him. I don't have the time to deal with the guys shocked look, instead I pull out another two arrows and fire away. _3 more zombies to go._ The ones that where attacking him has now targeted me instead, starting to run against me. I pull out my dagger from my belt, and can't help but smile when the first zombie jumps on me. _God, I really must look like a psychopath._ My dagger digs its way into the zombies skull, and I rip it out as quick as it got in. The last two are closing up on me. I want to use the gun, but I know that I'll just attract attention, and drag more zombies here. I should really try to get my hands on those quiet bullets, that doesn't make a sound at all. Do those even exists, or are those just movie props? It'd be cool, anyways. Instead, I'll just have to keep going with my dagger. I don't really mind though. They're simple targets. A slash here and a slash there. Boom. Killing zombies that aren't prepared are a lot easier.

I dry my knife off, completely forgetting about the fact that _there's a human standing in front of me._ A person. _Alive._ It's only when I look up to se a scared face there inches away that everything comes clear. I take a few steps away, simply out of shock. _No fucking way._ It can't be.. No. Just no.

"Spazter?! The fuck?! Dude!" he yells out with a loud voice. He looks scared. _Of course he is._ We haven't met in five years, and last time he saw me he gave me a punch in the face. He puts a hand on my shoulder. I freeze. That's the first human touch in three years, and it honestly feels great, even though it's from fucking king douche himself. "It's Stan! Stan Marsh! South Park?" He's smiling at me. _Euw_. I know I'm acting childish and all now, he probably grew up to be a nice young man, and completely forgot about the part where he and his friends fucked up my life, but.. Fucking hell.

"S-stan?" Of course, I fucking stutter. Five years and this is the first thing you do - _except for saving his life, that is._ "What are you doing here?" I bite my lip. All that goes through my mind is profanities, over and over again. Anybody but him. I stare into his freezing blue eyes. He's grown up to be an average looking boy, or man, or whatever.. It just feels weird calling him a man. His hair is short, and barely covers his ears. It's still a dark color, but instead of all black hair you can actually see hints of brown now. His face has sharpened, he has lost a bit of baby fat around his chins I guess. About 1 feet shorter than me, so he's about average. I didn't realize that I was _this tall._ I must've grown even more than the 6.5 feet I was when I left South Park, or he has just gotten shorter. I doubt the second theory. He's well built, and still looks like that jock he was in high school, but maybe a little wider shoulder. He looks torn, tired. Well, of course he does. We're living in a world with zombies.

Ignoring my question, he responds loud with "The fuck did you do out there?! That was sick! You where all like slitting them up like _waow, waow_." He gestures with his hands, making it look like I was holding a laser sword or something. _This isn't Star Wars, dude._ "You're fucking badass! Where did you learn that?!"

I'm just about to respond with something mean when I realize that his eyes are scanning me, from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. It's making me uncomfortable. This whole situation is making me uncomfortable. My social skills has never been good, and definitely not with Stan anywhere around. And I still can't stop focusing on that this is the first time I've talked to anyone that isn't myself in a long time.

Stan grins at me. Not a sneer smile, more nice. Like he looks at me as I'm one of his friends. This feels so wrong.

"You're tall." he mumbles. _No fucking shit, Sherlock._

 _puuuu_

It sounds like somebody's breathing. Close. Is there someone out there watching is? Shit. Its gotta be.

"Did you hear that?!" I turn my head in all different directions there is, trying to find somebody or something hiding among the trees but there's nothing. The sound doesn't repeat itself. Stan looks like a question mark. Must have been in my head. " _Ngh_ , never mind. I've been training in the woods and-.." He interrupts me. Asshole.

"Where's your group, dude?" He looks around, but when he sees nothing, or nobody, except for trees, he slowly turns back to face me. A shocked look is marked on his face, as he'd just realized something horrible. "Don't tell me you've been on your own?..Shit, man." He seriously looks concerned, or scared almost. He was concerned almost all the time when he was with Wendy, the overprotective dude he is. _Wendy_. _Oh shit, Wendy got bit on live camera. Those two where fucking lovebirds, inseparable. Stan and Wendy for life, you know? God, he must be devastated. Am I supposed to mention it to him? Say that I'm sorry for his loss? No, it'll just remind him. Like he'd ever forget._

"Eh, yeah. Just me, myself and I, you know?" My hands flies up to my hair, ready to pull in it out of nervousness, but I stop myself. That was the shit I did in South park. Pull my hair as hard as I could when I got nervous, or was panicking. When things, or my paranoia to be more exact, got worse, I had the tendencies to slam my head into things. Walls, tables, anything firm and steady. I mostly didn't even notice what I was doing myself until somebody stopped me. But no going back to that, I'm better now. I'm stronger. I'm in control. The part of me that keeps questioning that can go fuck itself.

"Wow, Spazter. Nobody could handle being around you?"

Great. _Fucking great._ Oh, and I thought he'd changed. That maybe he'd matured after FIVE YEARS. Who even says these things as a grown up, knowing the other person is suffering? Or maybe he doesn't know I'm suffering? Maybe he's a psychopath? _Oh god, I'm stuck in the woods with a psychopath and zombies. I'm going to die. This is the end of me. He's gonna stab me with my own knife and steal all of the things I've worked for, and I'd be fucking helpless. I'd never hurt a human, and even less KILL a human. That's just sick._

Stan leans forward to punch me lightly on my arm and chuckles amused. "You realize I'm just joking around with you, right?" No, I have a very hard time understanding when people use irony, and considering the fact that you bullied me a big part of my life, you saying mean shit is not something I'd consider to be a joke.

"It's…." Interrupted again. This time not by Stan, but by myself since I just stopped talking, regarding the fact that there's a zombie about five meter behind Stan. "Run." I say silently. The zombie's walking slow, maybe it's one of those with one of its feet cut off. It happens sometimes, when people forget that you have to stick something in their brains for them to die, so they just start chopping them in weird places instead.

"What did you say?" Stan questions.

" _GAH!_ ** _RUN!_** " And that officially confirms that it isn't one zombie with walking disabilities, but it's ten zombies, leaving the woods in front of me, sprinting right at us. The first zombie tries to grab Stans' shoulder, but I manage to do it first. I push him forward, forcing him to start running, as I join him. Stan is already a bit ahead of me, but with my long legs I catch up to him fast.

We run, only to realize that the zombies are catching up on us. Stan is looking terrified, when he suddenly slows down. My mind wobbles between to keep on running or slow down with him.

" _Ngh_ , Stan?! C'mon man, we need to keep running!" I shout at him when I decide to slow down with him. Rather end up dead than alone again, honestly. Even though I'll have to be not-alone with Stan.

"Just wait, dude." Stan sounds totally calm, smirking a bit. He turns around, the zombies only being about ten seconds away from us now. "I've got this figured out." Oh god, he really is insane. Nobody just stands still when death itself is running against you.

The next few seconds could be mistaken as a dream, since it all went fast and blurry. Multiple people jumps down from the tree, attacking a large group of the zombies with knives and spears. The remaining zombies that keeps on our way is just about few enough for me to handle on my own. I fasten my hand around the shaft of the knife, and pull it out quickly to place it in a zombies head. I can see in the back of my eye that Stan's fighting another zombie with some sort of axe. The smelling creature in front of me falls down and I jump on another. This one's quicker. It's pressing its whole weight against me, but I refuse to fall. It's determined to bite my throat off, cause I'm no in position of killing it since both my hands are occupied keeping it away from me.

My feet gets a connection with some sort of steady object, probably a rock, and I fall down backwards with the zombie on top of me. I want to scream, I really do, and I would've if I was alone. If I screamed now maybe they'd look at me as weak, and I'd be alone again? They'd definitely not let me be in their group, that's for sure. God, I don't want to be alone. _Focus, Tweek._ Oh, right. I have a fucking zombie on top of me. Why do my paranoid thoughts always come to me in the worst situations?

The zombies mouth is closing in on my throat. _Why can't I push it away?_ I'm too tired for this. I gather all my strength to try one last time to get the zombie off me, when I suddenly feel, and see it getting ripped way from me, ending up on the ground next to me. It growls, irritated that it didn't bite me. My rescuer stabs the zombie in the head with a spear. I can see the life, or not life, death? I don't know what to call it. But the zombie fades away at least. I sit up on my elbows, dragging myself away from the person that just saved me. It's just instinct, you know? To get as fast away from the danger as possible.

"Hey, you need help up?" A dark voice says. I was so focused with dragging myself towards some kind of escape road that I didn't realize the person had out his hand out, meaning for me to grab it. Awkwardly I let out a _"GAH"_ , out of pure reaction. When I get scared or shocked it's something I tend to do. My gaze wanders up from staring at the ground to looking at the young, handsome boy standing in front of me.

His legs are long, but he has a bit shorter upper body which makes him just a bit over the average length. Maybe 6.3? His shoulders are wide, and he's obviously well trained, but not like those scary body builders, but like simple nice shape. His face is symmetrical. Way too symmetrical. Harsh lines sculpting his face, and raven hair that falls down to his ears. There's a scar on one of his cheeks, going from about the side of the nose to the center of the left cheek. He's insanely beautiful and looks like a fucking magazine cover. When my eyes meets his, I freeze. They're pale blue, and yes, they're stunning. But it's not about the looks this time. I recognize them. I recognize him.

"Craig?"


	2. Introducing Craig Tucker

Craig Tucker's notebook, page 27

* Don't eat the green berries, they'll make you sick.

* Zombies can jump.

* No matter what, don't trust anybody.

— **-**

We've been trying to trace down Stan for about three hours now. He just had to go away into the forest and pee when the zombies came. Not that he knew or anything but.. Fuck it. Doesn't matter. He's gone now, and we're probably heading in a completely different direction than him.

There's no use to look for him, but Kyle keeps insisting that we can't leave him behind. And since we're people with common sense, we help him.

Kyle's trying to hold a mask of 'everything's fine' over his face, but you can clearly see through that. His eyes are sick with worry over his best friend.

Stan used to be the one who protected Kyle from all that was evil, keeping him away from the bad shit that happened in the world. He helped him through his first love and he helped him when he got angry or had trouble with his parents. When Wendy died, Stan had totally blacked out. Kyle was the one to pull him out of the city, into the forest to join the rest of the survivors so that he didn't end up getting killed. Ever since then, Kyle has taken over Stan's part of being the protector, though I don't think he's doing such a good job. But he gets points for trying, at least.

And without Kyle, Stan definitely wouldn't be alive today.

"Stan!" Kyle's screams are getting more desperate. I feel bad for him, I really do. I don't even know what I would do if something happened to Clyde. Too ensure myself he's still with us, I turn around and look behind me. There's the same old Clyde, short and a tiny bit chubby. Brown hair cut in the style he's always worn it. He tries to smile at me, but I can tell he's worried too. I smile back. Whenever I see him, there's something that calms me down inside. It's like he's some sort of sign that says everything's gonna be okay, just cause he's always been there with me through everything.

"Dude, maybe we should split up. It would cover more ground." Kenny suggests, knocking on Kyle's shoulder to get his attention.

"What?! No way, we stick together. I don't want anybody else getting lost out there!" Oh, right. Kyle has declared himself leader of the group, even though nobody voted for it. He just kinda took that part on himself and nobody have said anything about it. It's pretty nice having people to tell you what to do, you know? No pressure for me. If I was out here alone, I'd die right away, cause I'd never get anything done.

So, having Kyle as a leader maybe is something I should appreciate more.

"Stan!" Clyde shouts. No answer.

"He has to be out here somewhere! I mean, he didn't just run away on purpose." Kyle increases his speed, almost running through the forest now. "Stan, answer me you goddamn asshole!"

We all just increase the pace with him. Nobody dares to tell him that he needs to stop, that we probably won't find him. It's a big forest, and to be honest, the zombies that were chasing us were quite many. If they'd gotten to Stan, there's no way he survived. Nobody can fight off more than three zombies all by themselves. That'd seriously take the powers of some sort of superhero. It's simply impossible.

"Look, dude. Maybe we should.."

"FUCK! HELP, SOMEBODY!" the voice can be heard weakly through the thick forest, but it definitely belongs to Stan. Kyle turns paler than he already is. We all stop drastically, listening for more sounds. Seconds pass. I hold my breath, not daring to let any part of my body make a sound.

"GUYS! FUCKING COME RESCUE ME!" Right away, we head east. Kyle's running in the front, faster than I've ever seen him run before. The rest of us can barely keep up with him. My legs have always been kinda long, making it easier for me to run up to Kyle. Clyde though, being below the average height, always has difficulties when running. Even when we had P.E, he always came last of us boys. He would've come second last, but Cartman refused to run or even do anything in P.E so that leaved Clyde to be the one who sucked at everything. I slow down my pace, so that I'm next to Clyde instead, who is now way behind Kyle. Clyde knows I look after him. I'm not 'protective' over him, in the way Kyle is with Stan, but I just want him to be okay. I don't want him to feel shitty, and I don't want him to get eaten by zombies.

The screaming has stopped, but we still keep on heading in the same direction as we heard the first scream. Jumping over fallen trees, dodging branches. We usually run from the danger, but now we're running to it. For Kyle's sake, I hope we're not too late.

Kyle stops abruptly, and I almost run into him. He signals with his hands for us too hide behind something, take some sort of cover.

I can hear voices, but before I look at who's talking, I drag Clyde with me in behind a tree and put my index finger up to my mouth with a silent "Shhh".

Stan's voice can be heard loud and clear now. He's talking to someone, or something. I'm not sure if it's a human or if Stan has gone insane and is talking to a fucking stock cause honestly, it would not surprise me.

"You're fucking badass! Where did you learn that?!" His voice has a hint of chock in it, but he actually sounds quite happy almost. I breath heavily as I turn my face around too see who Stan's talking to,

A shiver goes through my whole body. There's a guy standing next i Stan. The guy Stan is turning his head in different directions, scanning the trees for something. Did he hear me breathing?

"Did you hear that?!" He looks at Stan, suspiciously. Damn, he has good hearing. I'm standing 10 meters away and he heard me breath? His voice is high pitched, but has a much more steady sound than last time I heard it. Because I have heard it before. Not that I remember from where or when. When Stan makes a questioning look, wondering what the kid was talking about. The kid just sighs.

"Ngh, never mind. I've been training in the woods and-.." Stan interrupts him. What a shame, cause this kids voice is fucking magical. It's not like it's pleasant to listen to, or anything, but it's unique. Most teenage or early grown up boys has a dark voice, like my own. When I was 16 my voice went from a high pitched voice with lots and lots of voice cracks to the darker, more steady one that I have now. It's like this kid never left puberty.

"Where's your group, dude?" Stan asks.

The kid, who I don't seem to recall remembering the name of, is looking terrified. Wait, didn't he go to the same school I did? Fuck, he's the kid that moved second year of high school. Though I do not remember much, but the little I do, I must say that man, he has changed. A lot. He used to walk around all sacked together, though he was tall. He must've grown to be at least 6.8 now, and he's owning his length. It looks good. His hair is platinum blonde, and very messy. Well, I guess he haven't gone to a fucking salon out here in the forest. It's standing in different directions, but he doesn't seem to mind. He has a very slender body, just like he used too, but a bit wider shoulders now. His eyes are big, soft, and green. Forget that I said only his length looks good, this whole kid is fucking stunning.

Stan mumbles something else and the kid answers something "Me, myself and I". It's a bit difficult to hear what they're saying.

"Wow, Spazter. Nobody could handle being around you?"

Stan has always been mean. He has gotten some sort of sick kick out of fucking around with peoples emotions, and with their appearances too. Calling them names, shoving them into lockers and leaving visible bruises. It was never okay, but somehow the teachers were scared of him too. I think everybody that wasn't in his and Kyle's "crew" feared him, We ran the school, mocking anybody that didn't reach up to our standards. Anybody that was slightly different. Even the kids who weren't different we found something, some sort of weak spot, to make them break down in front of us for our amusement. And I know that it wasn't okay. It still isn't okay. I gross myself out every time I think of the way I acted, the things I did to people. Kyle's always had a good heart, but he followed Stan blindly into his misery circle of hatred. Me and Clyde joined them. Maybe it was because I didn't want Clyde to be a target, maybe it was for completely selfish reasons. I don't know. But I kept with Stan. I kept with all his crew, and even got on acceptable terms with Cartman.

There's nothing more I regret than my late middle school and high school years.

But still I can't get away from it cause I spend every living day of my life surrounded by the people who fucked it up for me. And now it sounds like I'm the victim.

Shit.

Stan punches the kid on the shoulder. "You realize I'm just joking around with you, right?"

But then of course, after Stan's complete meltdown after what happened to Wendy, he has been getting nicer even to us. I don't think he'd experienced real pain before that, having everything in life served in front of him him on a silver plate. Maybe he's gotten some sort of perception that other people might feel bad over what he does. He probably knew that before though, just that he enjoyed them suffering. Maybe he just has let it go? The whole "I'm superior and I'm gonna make everybody feel like shit cause I don't want to deal with my own problems" though he should be doing it now more than ever, when he actually has some real shit to deal with.

I watch as the kid stiffens. It's like a shiver going all through his body, making him tense up.

"Run." At the same time he uses this word, zombies bursts out of the forest, trying to attack them.

"Fuck." I can hear Kyle mumble next to me. The kid and Stan immediately start running. Or, the kid does. He kinda turns Stan around and drags Stan with him.

The whole bunch of us follow the direction Stan and his new friend are heading in, which is.. deeper into the forest. Have I mentioned that I'm getting sick of running? And then I'm not talking about running in some deep metaphorical way of running from myself, but just running in general. I've always hated PE class, where they made us run mile after mile. So, when this whole thing with zombies struck down, the last thing I'd thought of was that if I actually had strained myself a little maybe I wouldn't be so tired all the time when I ran from zombies. Because running from zombies wasn't really the deal back then.

Kyle looks over his shoulder, scanning the people behind him.

"We're gonna jump in on the zombies on the count of three, alright?" Kyle doesn't even wait for a response before he starts counting down.

"One," My steps starts going right instead of straight forward, steering against the zombies a few meters right to me.

"Two," I pull my spear out, that I keep in a case on my back, keeping it steady in my head, ready to smash some fucking zombie brains.

"Three."

Screaming, all four of us jumps out of the forest, each and one of us picking different zombies to attack. It goes smooth, since we came up behind them. Stab, pull out spear, stab, pull out spear. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Constantly throwing looks over my shoulder to see if Clyde's okay, and luckily, he always is. I know that he can take care of himself. He's a grown up man for fucks sake. But I can't really stop myself from doing what I'm doing, keeping out for him.

I make my way forward, until I see a zombie laying sprawled on top of somebody. The zombie's desperate, trying to bite the victims this throat over and over again. The person beneath is pushing it away, but not strong enough to get it off him completely. I take three big steps forward, bend down to grab the zombie by its shoulders and drag it away from the kid under. The zombie's to big for me to get back on its feet though, so I push it to the ground next to the kid and stab it with my spear. I kinda hope that I looked cool doing that, cause that was some James Bond level shit.

The kid I just saved, Stan's new friend, looks exhausted, laying on the ground sprawled out. From the far away distance I couldn't quite tell the tiny scarring on his face, the circles under his eyes who've taken a purple color, and his super long eyelashes. Seriously, they look like they belong to a chick. Gotta keep in mind to ask him if he's ever gotten eyelash extension.

"Hey, you need help up?" I offer him my hand, to help pull him back up.

He doesn't grab it.

Instead, he just looks at me weird, frowning. It's the right thing to do in this scenario, right? To offer my hand, I mean. It should be. He's laying on the ground and I technically rescued him. Really, I should be carrying him away right now, if we were in a movie. Super hot guy saves victim and walks away with explosions in background. Bam. That doesn't happen though, and I certainly do not try to lift him up. It's tempting though, but he's a little too.. tall for that.

"GAH!" That's a strange word. "Craig?"

"That's me." I respond as I instead of waiting for him to grab my hand, that by the way still is out in the air, totally ignored, I crouch, take both his hands into mine and pull him up.

"What the fuck, man?!" As soon as he's back on his feet, he backs away as far as he can. He doesn't go far though, since there's a tree right behind him.

All around us, my crew(I know it sounds lame to say crew, but it's still better than squad as Kenny keeps on trying to call us) is finishing up their battles. No more zombies attacking us.

"I was just helping you up. Y'know, like in the movies where.." He looks totally confused. "Never mind."

The ground around us is covered in pale, greenish bodies. There is no blood, only cut off hands and feets. It always kinda hurts seeing the crime scene, so to say. If you'd asked me four years ago if I'd ever kill something, I'd punch you. Ironic, right? I always solved things with violence but I'd never be able to take it so far as really hurting someone. That's just sick. I've read some serialkiller comics and I am definitely not on that level in any sort of way. That's why it was so hard killing the first zombie. I knew it was already dead inside and all, since I had actually been able to go a few weeks without having to kill anything, so I had the information. The zombie was attacking Clyde, so what choice did I have? I've killed countless zombies afterwards, but the first one is not something you just forget like that.

"Okay everybody!" Stan raises his voice, and immediately Kyle hushes him. Stan shrugs him off. "This, as I'm sure all of you remember, is Tweek."

Tweek.

Now that I know the name I wonder how I could ever forget. Like, when you look at him he's such an obvious.. Tweek. Okay, maybe not. Stan, who've walked up behind Tweek puts an arm around his shoulder. I can see the discomfort in Tweek's eyes, but he doesn't move.

Everybody's silent at first. We're all looking at him like a pack of hyenas on their next prey. Kenny's the one to break the silence.

"Tweek, my man! How have you been?" How come Kenny's always so positive, I don't know. Always bringing joy to the group, being the person you can rely on, always knowing what you want before you know it yourself. I hadn't heard much nice things about him until me and Clyde joined "Team Stan and Kyle." All that was going round was the usual, that Kenny was a slut and that he was poor and ate pop tarts for dinner. I didn't care. I'm not the kind of person who contributes to rumors going around, unless I create them myself.

"I've been.. good." he looks down at his feet when he's talking. The silence falls over us again. What are you supposed to say in a situation like this? Are we supposed to invite him to join our crew, or just wish him luck and send him away? Should everybody walk up and pat him on the back or give him a hug? Probably not.

"Tweek has been alone out here this whole time! And he's fucking badass. You should see him handling a knife! Or a bow and arrow! It's amazing, I'm telling you!" Stan suddenly bursts out, gesturing with his hand how Tweek killed zombies. It's been a long time since I've seen Stan this brisk. He spends most of his days with his head down and sulking over the past.

"You've been alone?" Now it's Clyde's turn to talk. He steps out from behind me, where his small hiding spot usually is. Everybody turns their attention to Tweek again, except for Stan who keeps on gesturing some high tech shit.

"Ngh, yeah." His voice lowers, as if he's ashamed or something. "But it hasn't been a problem! I don't need a group to survive. I work best alone!" That honestly just sounds like..

"Excuses." Kenny crosses his arms and glares at Kyle who gives him a nod. Then he looks back at Tweek. "You're staying with us now." There's somewhat both relief and intimidation in his eyes. They flicker.

"No, no. Man, I'm fine on my own! I'd just slow you down to wherever you're going. And we're probably going different directions anyways, so that'd also be a problem. Plus I snore when I sleep and I can guarantee you that we have different sleeping schedules. And…" Tweek raises a finger, about to continue his list of reasons he shouldn't stay with us.

"Will someone shut this guy up?" Stan interrupts. "Dude, you're staying. It's final."

"But.."

"No butts." Kenny smirks. "Unless it's Craig's." I can hear Stan make an "Oooooooo" sound in the back as I roll my eyes.

"Kenny, will you shut the hell up before I punch you?" Kenny with his perverted mind has always bothered me, to be honest. Even back in high school(and in elementary for that part) he made those tiny comments. Every word that could possibly be connected with something he knew about sex or anything in that subject he'd make sure everybody knew.

I think that Tweek tries to smile, but it's so forced it looks almost painful.

"Thank you guys." He mumbles.

"You're welcome." Kenny says with a grinning face.

— **-**

For the past two hours Kenny has been rambling on and on to a quiet Tweek about different stories we've all either heard a thousand times or been there when it took place. All Tweek has been responding with is a few nods, and simple polite words every now and then. I think Kenny's just trying to be a nice person and not let Tweek feel like he's intruding or something.

"Craig, come over here dude." Kyle taps on my shoulder. A few meter behind me Clyde and Stan are walking side by side. Me and Kyle join them.

"What?" I ask.

"Shhh!" Kyle points at Tweek and Kenny in front of us.

"Oh, come on Kyle. They can't hear us." Clyde rolls his eyes and places his hands in his red sweater.

"We sure can!" Kenny's voice fills the air.

"Well don't fucking listen then!" Clyde yells back.

"Okay, as I was about to say.." Kyle lowers his voice, forcing us to lean in a little to hear what he's saying. "Is Tweek a permanent member of our group? Cause in that case, I think we should apologize."

"What are you talking about?" Stan stares at Kyle. "If you mean for picking on him for being fucking weird then try again."

"I agree with Kyle." Clyde adds.

"Well that cause you're a fucking pussy." Stan mumbles.

"What about you, Craig? What do you think we should do?"

Actually, my memories from high school and those years aren't that great. Hell, I couldn't even remember his name at first. But the thing is, all the shit I did was all group pressure. And some of it I did willingly cause to be honest, who wouldn't want to beat up Butters? He annoyed the shit out of me. And that one time with Kevin.. Or was it Bradley? Anyways they both had it coming.

But Tweek he was just.. Always kind of there. He was easy to pick on cause he didn't fight back. All he did was just stand there and take it. I mean, you should at least try to fight back. Maybe things would've been a little easier for him then. That's why I'm so surprised about seeing him out here, in totally good shape. He doesn't seem like the person who beats someone or something up. He's just the nice awkward kid that nobody really notices. When he moved away, I didn't actually find out until three months later when Stan asked where Daddy Longlegs was that he was gone for good. And then I never spent another thought on him, until he showed up now in the woods, two hours ago.

But I guess we might owe him an apology. I realize now the same thing I had realized then, that it was wrong of us to fuck with people.

"I guess I'm with Kyle as well on this. He deserves an apology. Especially from you, Stan." Stan couldn't possibly look more annoyed. He has such an issue with admitting when he's said or done something wrong. I understand him, I'm pretty much the same. I'm just so used to being right I guess.

"You guys are just worried about him killing you in your sleep. I am not saying shit to him, but if you feel like apologizing to the ninja giant then go ahead. I won't stop you."

Stan is the most annoying person ever. I don't think he left his goth phase at any point, but is still in it. I'm looking forward to the day when he stops feeling sad about himself.

"Well, I think we will." Clyde stares at me, questioning if I'm gonna join his apology squad.

"Yeah." I nod my head. There's no reason to start a fight with Stan, even though that's what all my instincts are telling me pretty much. But right now there's more important matters to focus on, like how fast my fingernails will grow back since I've bitten them all off and what does the new kid have in his bag?

I know that my mind focuses on weird stuffs sometimes. Everybody else is always nervous and worrying about things, about getting killed or falling in love, while I'm off in my own head thinking about if this life I'm living is all just a stimulation and soon I'll wake up in a room surrounded by people who've been running tests on me the past few years. As long as I can remember I've had different theories about life, space and people, which have kind of equaled in me distancing myself more and more from reality.

Or is it really reality?

Anyways.. I've never been the type of guy who's nervous or scared. I take things calmly, and fix everything as my life goes along. That I do worry for Clyde is something that has grown on me with time since he's what I consider a little brother.

We all continue walking in a fast paste, Kenny still talking to Tweek about random things Tweek doesn't care about. I feel a bit bad for Tweek, to be honest. Kenny can be a bit.. overwhelming some times. He's the type of guy that talks during movies, always changes the subject, and knows "cool" facts about everything you mention. I mean, it's nice if you like having someone constantly making comments, but after a while you get a bit sick of it. You need a break. And I might as well say my apologies on my own before Kyle starts preaching about how wrong he and all the other guys have been through the years. I can do without hearing that.

"Tweek, can I talk to you for a second?" I walk up next to Tweek, miming to Kenny 'leave'. Kenny stares at me with a bit of a mad face, but leaves immediately.

"So, Tweeeeeeeek." I start. "When will I get a thanks for saving your ass?" It was meant as irony. I don't actually expect a thank you. Or, maybe it would be a little nice.

"Stop." Tweek's voice is silent.

"What?"

"Are you deaf or something? I don't want to talk to you. I hate you."

I did most certainly not expect that.

"How come? And I hate you too, by the way, so there's no need to worry about your feelings being one-sided."

I don't hate him. I barely know him. But if he decides to go all anti-craig then I'm not the one to be nice. But this kid's confused, and probably pretty insane. He's been alone for I don't know how long, and I'd be surprised if he was sane even before this.

"You're a piece of shit, Craig Tucker. And if you don't leave now, I may just as well smash that pretty little face of you with a rock."

Tweek keeps on staring in front of him, not slowing down for a second.

"What." Tweek doesn't show any sign to respond, so I continue.

"I don't think that the group you literally just joined will appreciate you threatening me, one of the original members." I'm lucky that my voice can keep neutral in any scenario possible. If it was Clyde hearing this, he'd probably be either screaming or crying or both.

"Well, I'm not staying so that doesn't matter."

"And why is that?"

"Well, firstly ; it's none of your business. And secondly, I'd rather be in a group of squirrels that spend another day with you people." He pauses.

"No offense." He adds. How can he seriously not show any sign of emotion while saying this?

"None taken, dude. I'd like to wish you good luck on your own, but I know for a fact that you won't leave."

"You'll see." He mumbles. And honestly, I don't know at all if he'll leave or not. It just felt like it was gonna be cool to say or something. It's like something you say in movies, or books. And sometimes, I'd like to view my life as a movie. It wouldn't be a very interesting movie, and I'd probably turn it off ten minutes in, but in movies you always know that everything will figure itself out in the end. That's why it's kind of comforting to think of my life as movie, so I don't feel the need to stress about the fact that we'll all probably die soon. Or, people can die in movies too. But the main character never dies, and in this movie, I'm the main character. So I should be cool.

Tweek speeds up, leaving me to fall behind. Kyle joins up from behind me, walking way to close so that our arms touches.

"What did he say?" Kyle whispers.

"That he's leaving us." I try to discreetly walk right, so that Kyle's arm will stop touching me. Instead of succeeding to escape Kyle's touch, he presses himself even more on to my side, making me touch his shoulder as well.

"Dude." I turn around to stare at him.

"What?"

"There's a little space between two people talking next to each other." I gesture with my hands, making a two inch space between them and then keeping that space between me and Kyle. "It's an unspoken rule."

Kyle rolls his eyes at me. I flip him off. Douche.

I try to shut out everybody's voices. Clyde and Stan are talking about the Fight Club movie. Stan loves it, Clyde hates it. It was way to violent for someone like Clyde. But there's a young and hot Brad Pitt in the movie, so seriously, who could ever bash Fight Club?

Kenny have walked up to Tweek again, and this time Kyle is next to him as well. Kenny is continuing to ramble about stuffs like "Did you know that when hippos are upset, their sweat turns red?" The true question here is How does Kenny know this shit?

I drag up my brownish/blackish notebook from my front pocket. I have a pencil attached to it as well. It's just smarter that way. I've had the notebook ever since this whole thing started. And no, it's not something I brought from home. It's not like when you hear "Craig! The house is on fire!" the first thing you do is grab for an empty, trashy notebook. No, what I grabbed for was my camera. Lucky me, it didn't have any batteries. Surprise surprise ; I threw it away. I do have a bunch of printed photos in my backpack though that are actually quite good. None of the guys have seen them though. There's never been a reason to show them. Okay, back on track.. I found the notebook at the first place we spent the night as a group. That was back when Token, Bebe and Kevin was still with us. They didn't agree with where we were going so they trailed off somewhere on the road. I was a bit sad about Token first, but I got over it. The book was in a backpack that was hanging from a tree. Actually, there where two notebooks. Exactly the same. But why would I need two? Anyways, ever since, I've been using the notebook to write down random facts, tips for my future self and sometimes just how I'm feeling. Since I've had the notebook ever since this started, not a lot of pages are left. I think I've just finished writing on page 231 out of 259. It doesn't feel good knowing that the book will end so soon, but still I keep wasting pages by doodling and writing nonsense.

I start a new page.

Page 232

Tweek Tweak is a douchebag. I'm also a douchebag. If we ever get out of this alive, I'm never talking to any of these guys ever again.

The rest of the page is filled with a drawing of a crazy person who is sort of(totally not intended to) similar to Tweek, with the hair in every kind of direction. His nose is a bit short, and his eyebrows are thick. But they're blonde, so you can still barely see them. The eyes have a round shape, and because of the lack of color, I can't enhance the green in his eyes. He has tiny marks all over his face, and his hairline is filled with pimples. This turns out like shit. I like it. That's kind of my doodling style, to doodle bad, cause I really can't doodle. I close my book and put it back in my pocket. Enough of that today.

—

We've been walking for hours when Kyle suddenly yells out "Stop!". We all gather around to a little circle around Kyle, and sit down on the ground. I wish that my legs would stop hurting and my arms would stop itching. These are the times I really just want to go to sleep in a real bed and stay there forever. Best case scenario ; breakfast on bed. Possibly pancakes.

"Okay, so, we should be about here now." Kyle spreads out the map on the rocky ground and points at a place on the map filled with woods, but not to far away from the city limits. "We'll stay here and rest tonight, shifting who will keep watch. Tomorrow, we make our way into the city. The plan for that we'll go through when we get there." Okay I'm definitely glad Kyle's the leader.

"Ngh, what? You're going into the city? There's tons of zombies there, man! We'll all die!" Tweek jerks his head to the right.

"We've been planning this for a long time, I can promise you that." Kyle starts,

"Yeah, but you can't promise that everybody will make it out of there alive!"

"We're desperate, Tweek. And I bet you have something you need too." I watch as Tweek stiffens up.

"

Look man, you don't need to come." Clyde takes a step forward, putting his hand on Tweek's shoulder. "But if you've got something you need, you've gotta go get it yourself. We can back you up but we are not getting it for you." I watch as Tweek thinks. His hand moves up to his chin, scratching his none-existing beard.

"Medicine. I need medicine. I've got a few infected wounds on my thigh and shoulders."

"We're all in this together." Kyle picks up the map he had placed in front of us and puts it back in his pocket.

"Okay."

Mumbles of less excited "yeah's" fills the air, as everybody starts walking around in the area to find some steady tree to sleep on. Kyle shouts the names of who will takes watch and when.

"Stan, you're up first! Wake Kenny and Clyde up after an hour." Kyle knows that Clyde's scared of the dark, that's why he never puts Clyde out to be alone. "Then, I'll go. Tweek and Craig, you'll be taking the morning watch and waking everybody up."

Ha, guess Tweek won't be able to avoid me much longer.

I start walking towards a tree a few meters away that has some steady branches. Sleeping on trees isn't comfortable in any way, believe me. All these years, and I'm still not use to it at all. A soft bed would really suit nicely right now, or at least sleeping on the ground. Kyle says it's to much of a risk though, that we'd get killed immediately. I'm looking forward to finding a safe space. I don't have any idea what we'd do if we found one though. It's not like we could reproduce. We've all got dicks. And we all know that we're never going back to normal, having discussions wether or not we're gonna go to Whistlin' Willys or just order pizza and sit at home. Fights about who slept with who, and Stan getting all pissed about Cartman hitting on Wendy. Yeah, those where the times. I didn't even appreciate it back then. I just kinda hated them all and wished that they'd be silent or go away. I still do wish they'd be silent, but I think I've learned to appreciate their company a lot more.

"Craig?" Clyde's standing right behind me.

"What's wrong?" Clyde doesn't come to me very often anymore. Only when he's worried or scared. Otherwise he just leaves me alone, cause he knows I like my privacy.

"I'm just kinda nervous about tomorrow. We're going back to South Park technically, even though I know it isn't South Park for real anymore. I don't know, it's just that it'll bring up memories, you know?"

I know Clyde's right, and the deja vu will be out of the roof. I breath in deeply.

"All you can do is accept that things aren't going back to the way they where. And just try to focus on what we came there to do."

"I know, Craig, but it's just.." Water is tearing up in Clyde's eyes. I hate when he cries. He cries so loudly and he always gets a runny nose.

"Dude, don't cry."

"Can I hug you?" Clyde whispers, dramatically. His head is lowered to the ground, but I can see a string of snot from his nose. Gross.

As the nice friend I am, I pull him into my arms while gently patting his back. This is something I would never in a million years do to either Stan, Kyle or Kenny. They wouldn't deserve my attention in that way. And they don't cry as much as Clyde, anyways. I think I've seen Kyle cry once, but I chose to ignore it. It felt like he wanted to be alone, and I didn't want him sobbing all over me.

"You'll see that we'll figure it out tomorrow." I pull back. but still keep my hands on Clyde's shoulders. "Try to get some sleep now, so that you'll be fully rested tomorrow."

"Thanks, Craig."

"Night, Clyde."

I climb up in my chosen tree and pick out the rope from my backpack. It doesn't take long before I'm fast asleep.


End file.
